lead your brother to his death
by siniye
Summary: Set post-Avengers. Loki is sentenced to death for his crimes, and Thor stays with him on his final day, sifting through forgotten emotions and old memories. M for character death/lots of angst.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note_: Uh, this is my first foray back into fan-fiction after a couple years' stagnation. Anyways, copious angst, character death, no smut (don't wanna mislead.)

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Loki was sentenced to death.

The trial had gone on nearly a month, taking much longer than the swift Asgardian justice system usually did. There were varied interpretations of Loki's actions on Midgard and in the Shining Realm, polarized by deliberation and argument. Some demanded millennia of torture and degradation, and others called for pardonings and even decoration. Thor was unsure of which side he was on; the good and loving brother within him wanted the rehabilitation of his poor, misguided brother, but the king-elect inside respected the judicial system and intended full penance for the God of Chaos.

Neither of these dichotomies ever desired capital punishment, so when the sentence came down, Thor was awestruck.

His execution was set for dusk the coming day (the jury didn't not announce their verdict until the small hours of morning,) and anything past that Thor did not hear.

"Death..." he exhaled, feeling all his thunder pass out of him by the simple words, "Brother...death..." Most of the courtroom was stoic and solemn at the announcement, with few gasping or whooping at the news. Odin slammed Gungnir's blunt end on the ground to regain order, but Thor did not noticed. His eyes seemed to fly in a frenzy before settling on his beloved brother, stil shackled and gagged, staring calmly up at his just-proclaimed executioners. Court adjourned, and Loki was led out of the courtroom by four guards.

"Visitation begins in an hour, for any who would like to bid farewell to the condemned." the judge added, more to the Allfather and his family than anyone else. Frigga stood, ringing her hands together and sighing. Odin bore no emotion as he exited the courtroom, and Thor watched him leave before shaking off his stupor and following his mother wordlessly. He thought he heard the Warriors Three speaking false condolences, Sif offering her support and gently patting his arm, but the God of Thunder just wandered the corridors away from the courtroom, eventually ending up on a balcony overlooking the main courtyard. Down below, Aesir were rushing back and forth from one another, bringing news of the "traitor's execution." Thor could not tolerate their spiteful, ignorant words carried up by the wind and left the balcony, moving towards the visitation rooms. Frigga was already outside with two of the posted guards. She said nothing, wrapping her arms around her eldest son, and he automatically returned the embrace, not really registering what was going on.

"Be strong, my son," she said calmly, before drawing back and looking towards the guards. One opened the door, and she stepped inside, leaving Thor in the hallway.

He paced quietly, head swimming as he started regaining cognition after the initial numbness of the shock. Loki, dead, he reiterated, dead and gone, for real this time. All the emotions, all the mourning from after he thought Loki lost at the shattering of the Bifrost resurfaced, and he banged his fist into the wall. The guards stiffened, and Thor took a deep shuddering breath, trying to remain calm. Frigga emerged, looking as composed as always, nodding at Thor. He dipped his head, and made his way inside.

The room was octagonal and simple, the only decorations four mirrors on every other wall, a chair and a small couch and a table. Loki sat on the couch, arms still chained and mouth covered with metal. The sight of it made Thor's knees wobble slightly. His brother looked weary, the imprisonment and trial's toll evident on his face, but his eyes were bright and watchful, albeit masking any emotion.

"Give me the keys." Thor addressed the guards outside.

"But, sir-" one began, but upon seeing Thor's hardened features relinquished the keys and shut the door quietly.

The golden-haired man made his way to the other side of the couch, taking his brother's face in his hands and gently removing the metal mask. Loki made no noise or indication of approval, merely tilting his head down to look at the steel manacles. Thor unlocked them next, letting the fall to the floor but letting his hands linger over his brother's wrists. Deliberately, Loki lowered his forehead to Thor's collarbone, connecting tiredly with cold, metallic armor. Thor tightened his grip around his brothers hands and exhaled, marvelling at his thin and icy his brother had become. They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, before Loki sighed and straightened up, emerald eyes boring into his brother, lips slightly parted.

"Thor," the Trickster's voice crackled from disuse. He cleared his throat and continued steadily, "Do you trust me?"

"I do." Thor replied after taking a deep breath, "I would trust you to the end of this realm, my brother."

Loki smiled slightly, "Still? After all these things that I have done?"

"Yes, I do not believe I could ever mistrust you."

"No, I meant, still call me your 'brother.'" Melancholy surfaced in Loki's downcast eyes. Thor felt something inside him crack, but he remained silent.

"Could I..." Loki began after a short silence, "Let me do something for you, Thor."

The Thunderer nodded, still too disconsolate to be suspicious of his soon-to-be-late-brother.

"Turn around." Thor obliged as Loki magicked a simple black comb out of the air. Slowly and placidly, the Trickster brushed out his brother's blonde hair, not tugging at the knots and unweaving the tangles. Not until Thor's hair shone like perfectly spun gold did he set the comb on the table quietly. Taking all of the hair back, he divvied it up into three equal parts and began braiding it.

Another wave of memories hit Thor, this time from his and Loki's shared childhood. Loki always wanted to set his nimble fingers upon everything, fidgeting and weaving and braiding. He usually helped Frigga with her plaits, but the jealous Thor wanted to monopolize his adored brothers attention, so Loki's fingers turned to him, intricate patterns finding their way upon Thor's head in the morning only to be undone by the day's play. Eventually it stopped, a side-effect of the split between Thor's warrior ways and Loki's affinity for mischief. (Hairstylings were not approved in real men.) All the time spent squirming in their vanity chair while Loki went to work flooded back into him, and manifested itself in nostalgic tears swimming before the God of Thunder's cerulean eyes. He blinked to try and dispel them, but upon looking up he spotted their reflection in the mirror. Brows slightly knit in concentration, yet eyes drowning in sorrow, Loki's hands were the only things moving. Loki tied a small string of leather around the end and whispered a small incantation to keep the plait set.

"All done." Loki said quietly, drawing back from handiwork. "It should stay kempt lest another sorceror undoes my tiny spell." Thor turned back to his brother and reached around to touch his new braid.

"Thank you." Thor murmured, looking timidly at his brother, hoping that his tears were not too evident. Loki opened his moth, as if to say something, but then shut it again and looked away.

"My poor brother," Thor began, voice dripping with sincere sympathy, "Has the fear of death robbed you of your wonderful words?"

The corners of Loki's mouth tugged upwards. "I have never feared death, for it is what everyone and everything shall eventually face." His voice dropped low and his eyes turned downwards again, "Nay, I'm afraid of losing you."

Thor felt another blow to his heart with this admittance, and without thinking his powerful arms came forward and locked the other man in a firm, almost crushing embrace. At first tensed in surpise, the God of Lies melted into his brother's eyes, hands scrabbling at Thor's back and tears falling from his eyes for the first time since his return to Asgard. They both began to sob openly, tears and feelings and lost time falling freely onto each other.

No words were passed until one of the guards knocked on the door and yelled that there were only ten minutes remaining before visitation was over. The raven haired man was the first to pull away, albeit reluctantly. Tears streaked down his pale face, jade eyes rimmed with red. He set his jaw and inhaled loudly.

"Thor," His voice shuttered from all the crying and he tried to recompose himself, "Thor, I, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I deceived you and caused you and mother and father so much pain," Loki spoke hurriedly, breathless and raspy, "I'm sorry I blamed you. It wasn't your fault, and it wasn't father's fault, it was-" he swallowed hard again, and was racked by another sob, slender fingers clamping onto Thor's arms like trembling vises, "It was me, it was all me. I'm so sorry." Loki collapsed into Thor again, overtaken by grieving.

"No, brother," Thor shushed him softly, "It is no one's fault, and it is everyone's fault." The golden-haired man slowly stroked the smaller's back. Loki then concentrated on recollection of self, breathing deeply and awkwardly with his forehead pressed once again into the crook of his brother's neck.

The door clicked loudly, in comparison to the silent room, and Loki drew back swiftly, straightening his garments and reaching for the shackles and keys as the guards entered.

"No." Thor grabbed his wrist, "You will not spend your last living hours in chains." But he was looking at the guards, who exchanged quizzical looks before accepting the order.

"We are to go to the dressing chambers," one guard said. Thor gulped. He had nearly forgotten that death-row criminals were usually dressed and prepped for their funerals before their executions.

"Very well, but I shall accompany my brother every step of the way." Thor bargained, standing and straightening his back to full height.

"Understood," the guard said uneasily, and the four of them headed out of the room. The hallway was deserted except for the two extra transport guards at the doorway. They walked in pairs, two guards, their princes, and two more guards, heading away from the hall of justice and it's dungeons and visiting rooms towards the dressing rooms. Moving through an open corridor lining a dining hall, the inhabitants of the hall gasped and pointed and gossiped at their passing. Loki looked shaken by their leering, trying to stare each of them down.

"Brother, do not let them get to you." Thor whispered, "They only wish ignorant, misguided harm at you."

"Perhaps they are justified." Loki would not look him in the eye.

Thor took his brother's pale hand in his large, calloused one, spurned by the memories of their childhood, waltzing down the halls and through the gardens, hands locked together. Inseparable. Thor felt another pang of sorrow, but Loki did not pull his hand away. Down below, the Aesir who were watching threw up another round of gasps and gossips, but Thor strode on proudly.

As proudly as he could for one who was leading his most dearest brother to his death.


	2. Chapter 2

Only when Loki needed to be led away to get changed did Thor relinquish his hand. Loki only offered a weary, hopeless smile before disappearing into the main room. Thor sat in the anteroom, with one guard at the outer entrance and two guards at the inner entrance, the left-over staying with the dressers and Loki. The Thunderer wrung his hands, nervousness and dread overflowing and overtaking him. Eventually settling into reaching his hand back and stroking his braid placidly, unsure how much time passed with racing thoughts and pounding heart. Loki reemerged dressed in white. It was a simple outfit, a long tunic-shirt, wrapped at the forearms, and a trailing overvest, embroidered with a generic prayer about Hel and Valhalla and death. The only jewelry he wore was the dark, low-hanging bronze gorget.

"What is this?" Thor demanded, "These are burial cloths for a simple nobleman, or a peasant even, not a prince of Asgard-"

"Thor," Loki reprimanded, "Did you not hear at the sentencing this morning? My princeship has been annulled. This is a high courtesy on their part," Loki's voice was deadpan, obviously upset by the fact but unwilling to show it in the presence of strangers.

"Blasphemous." Thor grumbled, glaring at the dressers who had presented Loki. They looked frightened.

"Thor," Loki repeated, and Thor silently smoldered. He began to lead out of the room, the guards returning to formation around the two brothers. Loki gently entwined his fingers in Thor's, and the Thunderer ceased his storming, quick footsteps. Realizing their minutes were numbered, Thor resolved to spend them as un-angrily as possible. He began taking slower strides and deeper breaths, squeezing his brother's frigid hand lightly in time with them. The guards led them to Loki's old room, .

"Why are we here?" Thor questioned.

"The condemned requested to have his last meal in this room." The guard explained calmly.

Thor and Loki stepped inside to see the room had been mostly untouched. Sparse in the way of conventional decoration, it was covered in star charts and diagrams and sketches, all having to do with magic or tactics or trickery. The towering twin bookshelves held tomes and volumes Loki had deemed favorited or useful and been smuggled out of the libraries or bought from other collections. Even the bed was still unmade, left as Loki had slept in it the last time, many moons ago. The Trickster faltered a bit at the rush of nostalgia, but Thor held him steady. Loki's wide desk had been dragged into the middle of the room, leaving trails in the dust on the tile floor, and been set with Loki's favorite meal. There were two plates of it. Thor threw a quizzical look at the guards, who simply nodded and left them in privacy. Their hands remained interlocked until they reached the tiny table. They sat opposite, Loki devouring the meal uncharacteristically, all heaping spoonfuls and mixing of flavors, unlike the brother Thor watched years ago, who ate gracefully and thoughtfully. Thor wanted to eat, but the butterflies in his stomach did not allow him the pleasure. He poked at the vegetables and sipped at the mead, not wanting to tip his brother off at his discomfort, although he doubted the other man would even notice, the way he was inhaling the food.

"Are you going to eat yours, Thor?" Loki asked when he actually did notice. Thor proffered a tiny shake of his head, and rose to cross to the bookshelves, eyes scanning the largely strange titles. His eyes alighted on an battered, familiar volume, a picture book the two had adored as children. Excitedly removing it from the shelf, he walked back to his chair and sat down. Loki eyed him suspiciously.

"You intend to read to me? Children's stories?"

"Yes," Thor chuckled, "Do you object?"

Loki took a measured breath, "No, not particularly."

Thor opened to the first story-the story of the creation. "'The first world was that of Muspellheim. Full of flames and white-hot heat, it is guarded by Surtr, who will vanquish all gods and burn everything with Muspellheim's fire.'" He even turned the book around to show his brother the illustration.

"Skip to the Frost Giants, and then to father." Loki's voice was monotone, and he had slowed his ravenous eating to pay attention.

"Alright," Thor flipped around, "Ah, here it is; 'When the cold from Niflheim and the heat from Muspellheim met, Ymir the Frost Giant was born. When he slept, a man and a woman grew out of his left arm, and their son out of Ymir's leg. They were the first of the Frost Giants, creating the realm of Jotunnheim.'" Thor thought it odd Loki would want to remember his accursed heritage and his accursed foster father at such a time, but he continued."'The brothers Odin, Vili and Vé then killed Ymir, and all of Ymir's blood flooded the Jotnar and left only two alive. The three brothers then took his body, and from it created the seas and the ground and the mountains and the trees and the skies and the clouds, and the maggots that had lived in Ymir's corpse became human-like by will of the gods. They gave most of the earth to giants, but created Midgard as their stronghold.'"

"To Asgard," Loki had stopped eating altogether now.

"'The brothers then needed to watch over their creation, so they made the Shining Realm of Asgard, and the hall of Hlidskjálf, from which Odin could see and comprehend everything. He then married Frigga, and by her bore the Aesir, all gods in their own right. Odin then became the Allfather, because he had birthed the Aesir and humans and all of creation.'" Thor had reached the end of the story now.

"Seemed more glorious when we were children," Loki said, retreating back into his cage of distrust and hurtful words, "But I suppose we understand it more clearly now."

"Loki, my brother, do not spend your last moments in cynicism," Thor reached across the table and pulled his brother's cold hand in between his warm ones. Loki looked at him reproachfully, green eyes shining with regret.

"My apologies," he murmured, drawing his other hand over Thor's, tracing patterns over the bones and sinewy muscles in the stronger hands.

"I love you, brother," Thor said after many beats of silence. Loki's tracings paused and their eyes locked, but sensing the sincerity in Thor's eyes, the God of Chaos had to drop his eyes to focus on his pattern drawing.

"Would it have killed you to say it before?" Loki's voice dripped with hurt.

"That's the problem. I have never said it enough, and I can never say it enough, either, but I don't want you to leave me again having not heard it from my lips." Thor was tearing up now, trying to keep himself calm. Loki had stopped the patterns, but he was still staring intently at the back of Thor's hand. "Please, believe me."

"I have always believed you, Thor," Loki's voice was barely audible in the silent room, "You were the only one I always believed." His head dipped deeper, and a choked sob escaped his throat. "Always."

"Always," Thor echoed, holding his brother close again, "I love you, Loki, I love you," he repeated as a mantra, tears streaming down his face again.

The guards returned again, and they pulled apart. The God of Thunder ran a calloused thumb over his brother's smooth face, wiping away the single line of saline that had trailed there. Loki's eyes fluttered shut and he becked into the gentle touch.

"It's time," Thor whispered begrudgingly, and Loki's eyes snapped open.

"I suppose it is." Loki stood, straightening his sepulchral garments and offering his brother a shaking hand. Thor engulfed it in his own and they walked towards the main hall, where the execution was to take place. They were not led into the assembly, but to a small antechamber where they were to remain until summoned for. Sitting together on a golden bench, Thor's hands once again wrapped themselves around Loki's, and both pairs was shaking violently. Loki's hands were slightly warmer, but that was because Thor had been holding them for so long. The Trickster's frame was convulsing, but when the page came in to tell them they were to be ready momentarily, Loki began to steel himself, calming his shakes and masking his face into the old, dead thing he always had used to face the subjects of Asgard.

"Just think, Thor," he spoke quietly, "The last time we were here together you were to be crowned king." A single tear rolled down his cheek again, but he did not wipe it. Thor did not respond, stroking his thumbs against Loki's pale hands. A squadron of guards entered the room.

"It is time." Thor began to rise, hands still connected to Loki, but the black-haired brother still needed time to adjust, standing slowly and deliberately. It was then Thor realized how fragile his brother had become, and it caused him to tighten his grip around Loki's hands.

"I wish to stay with him." Thor looked the lead guard in the eyes.

"I'm afraid that's not-"

"I am your next king!" Thor barked. "Make an exception." Thor disliked holding his status above everyone else, but courtesy be damned; his brother was condemned. The guards balked and conceded to the Thunder God's wish, and arranged into the line-up. Ten guards, then Loki, then Thor, then ten more guards. As the guards in front began to filter out from the curtains and walls and into the wall, the brother's hands found each other again.

"Don't let go of me." Loki pleaded, tone scarce and urgent.

"As I vowed when I found you alive on Midgard," Thor replied, "I will never let go of you again."

Then, the light was brilliant and blinding, and the crowd of Aesir was massive and far-reaching and undulating, all straightening in the presence of the doomed. Through the windows, he saw the sky was dark and overcast, perfect weather for an execution. On the other side, Odin was seated on his throne, Gungnir in his hand and Frigga seated next to him, and an open seat, probably for Thor, on the other. Odin did not watch his sons enter, rather, stared transfixedly at some point off in the distance. Thor made a mental note to be angry at the Allfather's indifference later, but his gaze happened upon the execution bed, where the condemned would lie to receive the poison from Jörmungandr, so concentrated and potent it caused no pain, but instantaneous death. They had recently adopted the humane killing practice from the Midgardians, Thor's mind added, and they reached the bed. Thor embraced his brother one last, hasty time, before the Trickster clambered onto the bed, laying on his back with his head supported by gold-embroidered pillows. His green eyes bore into the ceiling and his breathing was uneven and shallow while the lead guard read the charges.

"The condemned, Loki Laufeyson, God of Mischief, Lies, Chaos, and Fire, has been convicted of unjustified destruction upon Asgard, Midgard, and Jotunnheim, attempted murder upon Midgard and Jotunnheim, attempted murder upon Asgard, Midgard, and Jotunnheim, and treason of the highest degree. For these crimes he will now be punished, and the punishment passed down by the honorable Asgardian Judiciary is death by the poison of the World Serpent."

A set of guards stepped forward with a vile of the toxin. Loki shifted his head to look at Thor, who had knelt at the side of the bed.

"Don't leave me, Thor," he breathed as they came closer, "Goodbye."

"Goodbye, my brother," Thor sobbed out just as the guards arrived. One held Loki's jaw open gently, and the other uncorked the bottle, pressing it to the condemned lips. Loki drunk the small amount in one gulp and the guards stepped away. Loki swallowed again and whimpered, now shaking intensely again, all composure shattered.

"Thor!" The Trickster yelped shakily, and Thor clasped his brother hands again. They were burning hot and quivering like mad.

"Yes, Loki, I'm here."

"Thor, my brother, I-" and Loki's life passed out of him, leaving his face panic-stricken but his eyes dead and focused at the ceiling, the last teardrop falling languidly from his eye onto the soft pillow. The hands went limp, along with every other muscle in his body.

Thor picked up the shaking where his brother left off. He attempted to form words, but only small beginnings passed from his lips. Then he tensed and bellowed the loudest, most sorrowful cry, echoing out into the hushed crowd. It began raining, so hard and so fast the building shook and the cacophony was deafening. The God of Thunder did not care. He continued wailing, lamenting his brother's passing relentlessly and spectacularly, not letting any person approach him or his beloved, deceased brother.

Every memory tore through him like a serrated knife. The good, the bad, the fuzzy and the clear, the recent and the long thought-forgotten, every memory that contained Loki and his jet black hair and mischievous emerald eyes cut him deeply and roughly and everywhere, a full-body ache present in his heart and his mind and in all the nerves in his body. The rain torrented down upon the building, and the wind swirled violently, threatening to pick up the Halls of Asgard and fling them somewhere else, recompense for Loki's death. Thunder boomed with every cry the Thunderer uttered, matching length and amplitude. Lighting did not strike, however, as Thor believed that all light had left his world. His brother, his closest friend, wiped from the face of the Nine Realms for eternity, right in front of him. It left him embittered and raging at nothing concrete, nothing he could go and demand retribution from. Frustration and misery swelled inside him, to heights he had never known before, clutching at his brothers now stone-cold hands.

He cried himself out, though it took all night. In the dawn he came to his senses, acerbically realizing that this time yesterday, Loki was just being sentenced. A day had passed, and his brother went from being imprisoned by Aesir to being imprisoned by Death, from which there is no escape. He shakily rose to his feet, not letting go of his brother's hand until the funeral dressers and palace guards had to pry his stiff, protective fingers free.


	3. Chapter 3

Somehow he ended up in his room, throat aching and hoarse, face streaked with tears, and an immeasurable, impossible weight on his chest. He closed his eyes and had a single dream, a memory of the simpler times, when there was no throne to contend for, no attention to compete for, no substantial things to divide over. Just his darling brother reading from a children's book of history.

"'The first world was that of Muspellheim,'" Loki had a gift for reading, Thor always stumbled where he had weaved and created and imagined.

"Skip to the Frost Giants, Loki!" Thor was watching disjointed, his much younger self laying on his stomach on his brother's bed in their shared room, watching him read from the book.

"Alright, alright," Young Loki sighed, flipping the pages, "'When the cold from Niflheim and the heat from Muspellheim met, Ymir the Frost Giant was born-"

"Okay, now skip to the part where dad kills him!" Thor interrupted.

"Brother," Loki whined, "You can't just skip around like that, it's a narrative."

"Well, narr-narra-narrontibies are boring!" Thor bemoaned. Loki sighed heavily and set the book aside.

"You'll understand some day."

Thor awoke in the present with a start, and the stale actualization splitting another deep crack into his sore heart. The rain and the tears began again.

When the God of Thunder awoke again, dusk had just begun to spread it's tendrils across the land. The sun was shining in through the high windows of Thor's room, and though it was obscured by the slowly dissipating clouds. He rolled onto his side to avert his eyes, not wishing to see light just yet. A short while later there was a knock at his door. A pageboy entered and informed Thor that his brother's funeral was starting soon. Dressers came in and groomed the woebegone prince into something presentable-light armor, silver jewelry and helm, muted scarlets and dark blues and blacks. Funerary clothes. A funeral. Thor shivered at the thought, heart-wounds reopening. They then attempted to move to his hair, but he snarled and bade them back from his brother's parting gift, the short braid down his neck. After they had retreated bfrom his side, Thor moved towards the door. Sif appeared in the doorway, dressed in her mournful attire as well, although she wasn't in as bad a way as Thor was.

"Thor, my prince and my friend," Sif placed a fist over her heart and lowered her head.

"I am in no mood for formalities, Sif," Thor replied monotonously, "what do you seek?"

"I come not to receive, but to give." She held out a black comb.

"What's this?"

"You know what th-" the pageboy interrupted them, telling them the ceremony was fast approaching. Thor grabbed the comb and stowed it in his pocket, marching away from Sif and down into the courtyard, where chariots and carriages awaited. He took a small, enclosed carriage alone and drew the blinds, basking in memories until they reached the sea. The shoreline was covered in deep green forests, with the sun setting and reflecting onto the calm waters. The rhythmic beating of the waves and the tide drowned out the horses' hooves on the forest floor, and Thor emerged to join the procession on the beach.

He found Loki quite quickly, way at the back, still among the small caravan of carriages, folded serenely on roofless palanquin, decorated with gold carvings and ivory inlays. The dressers had obviously taken the Thunderer's comments to heart about Loki's simple plebeian dress-he now had on a finer overvest, and his gorget had been replaced with a brighter golden one, inlaid with jewels. His slim fingers and wrists we now adorned with gold and onyx and emeralds. Threads of gold and small jade beads had weaved themselves into his soft black hair, accompanied by tiny leaves crafted from soft gold. The Trickster's face was peaceful, like he had met no trouble and looked to be asleep, ready to stir at any minute. Thor's heart soared as he thought this hope might be real, but sunk to new lows as reality cruelly swept it away from him. He reached up and touched Loki's newly decorated hands, flinching back at their new levels of frigidity. Then he realized how ghastly white his brother was in death, almost blue and blending in with his funeral attire, and new tears brimmed at his blue eyes. He stepped back and looked towards the guards designated as pall-bearers.

"I wish to carry my brother." Thor told them sluggishly. They all nodded, and the funeral director whisked around to tell them it was about to start. The four of them all took hold of a handle and lifted the light prince, beginning their slow walk down the small hill. While still far from the gathered crowd, Thor observed the small handful of people that had shown. Sif and the Warriors Three, only there for Thor, some of Loki's caretakers and teachers and trainers, the ones that still regarded his deceased brother as worthy of their time, and Frigga. There was no Odin, and there was no personal friend or spouse of Loki's. Thor felt the ever-present tears well up again, and he dropped his gaze to avoid their spillage. The palanquin finally connected with the floating pyre, Thor and the other pall-bearers wading into the frigid water to set Loki upon the vessel. The other men moved back to the beach, but Thor could not leave his brother's side yet. Flame was set to the boat and it was pushed out into the cold ocean. The fire spread quickly, but then ship moved slowly, Thor splashed through the water after it, keeping his eyes transfixed on his brother's eternally sleeping form. slowly being encased in flickering fire. When he was waist deep, he felt the comb in his pocket and took it out. It was small and made of ebony, shiny and exquisite, the one made by Loki in order to braid his hair the day before. Upon closer examination, the handle had been inlaid with one tiny ruby and one tiny emerald, and on the other side, the word 'brother' was carved and set with goldleaf in Loki's slanted hand.

The Thunderer dropped to his knees, water now up to his shoulder, lachrymose over the simple, meaningful comb and the image of his burning brother disappearing into the setting sun. He continued wailing until the ship was out of sight and the frigid tide had come in up to his neck. Sif stood next to him, rubbing genteel circles into his back, with Frigga still behind on the sand. All the people and carriages were gone, save for one intended for their ride back. Thor took Sif's extended hand and pulled himself out of the freezing sea, physically and emotionally numb. He staggered, and Sif wrapped an arm around his waist and helped him to shore. Frigga supported Thor on the other side, and all three of them moved in a silent group to the waiting carriage. Thor slumped against the inside of the carriage as they made their way back to the city, nobody making a sound.

The God of Thunder stared up at the moon, brightest thing in the sky with the stars covered by new inky black clouds. It was a crescent, and it suddenly reminded Thor of his lost brother's bronze gorget, hanging from his neck and beautifully complimentary to his armor. Thor's golden braid brushed the back of his neck.

Quietly and peacefully, he wept again.

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_Author's Note_: So, that's the end, hehe. Thanks for reading! (I did write an epilogue, but I'm unsure of it.)


	4. Epilogue

_Author's Note_: Alright here it is, epilogue. Thanks for all the wonderful reviews!

* * *

Although Thor was convinced that time had would not turn for him after his brother's death, it did. The slow, anguishing days turned into months and then years. The Allfather slipped away, and Thor took the throne. He was a wise and just and beloved king, in Asgard and among other realms. Yggdrasil grew healthy and exponentially.

The golden son, now golden king, refused to have his golden hair cut or restyled, instead having sorcerers place magic upon it to quell it's growth. Initially he called it grieving, but later wisdom let him call it love, a tribute to the last piece of his brother in the waking world. Sentiment, and honor.

An eon later, as the entirety of creation admired him, Thor met his end in battle, a careless misstep his deathblow. And the entirety of creation mourned as he lay on his deathbed, refusing healers.

"They have all left me," the King of Asgard claimed, "my wife, my parents, my dearest old friends..." he inhaled one last time, tears rolling down his cheeks, "my brother, I-"

And he passed on with his brother on his lips, as his brother had done for him all those years ago.


End file.
